✒ Poem: Typewriter
When those fighting iron letters
punch bruises into the trembling ink ribbon,
staining the aiding trapped paper beneath it
with the black blood of my innermost thoughts,
I can do nothing but spill memories
and creeping sentiment
onto this dry white surface; soaked with words,
like inky waves licking
the crumbling shores of my ubiquity,
that wash away the crystals and dust of the past…
to safe them on albescent poet’s fabric
before they disappear swirling
into the darkness of time.
Abusing this ancient apparatus
to satisfy my skull marrow’s longing,
to thrive my imagination
to plenary lucidity.
in searching for pieces,
to add them to the vibrant spectrum
of my life’s mosaic.
Poem & Image by: MT